Surface With Daring

by Douglas Reeman

  Seaton looked at the chart. ‘Does anyone know we’re arriving?’

  Trevor chuckled. ‘That barge is going there, too. Laying on a reception committee!’ It seemed to amuse him.

  Seaton picked up his parallel rulers. It was not for Niven now. The decision had to be laid in the same place as the blame.

  He could feel the other man watching him.

  ‘You’ve done a lot of this sort of thing before, eh?’ Trevor sighed. ‘Good job. It’s going to be no picnic.’ He could not control a great yawn.

  Seaton said, ‘It’ll be a tight squeeze.’ The depths and bearings on the chart flitted through his mind in time with his pencil. ‘Even for us.’

  Trevor nodded and pointed at the port. ‘They’ve got anti-submarine booms everywhere there, and there. Regular patrols begin at first light, and air cover through the day at irregular times, weather permitting. As we’ve been pretty well iced up for the past week, there’ll probably be quite a few planes up tomorrow. The forecast is good. Clear and bright. No snow.’

  He took the dividers and touched the fjord very lightly.

  ‘There. That’s the place. I’ve arranged to have a boat of sorts. Just to signal if the coast is clear.’ His tone sharpened. ‘How long?’

  ‘Take twelve hours.’ Seaton studied the chart gravely. ‘More or less. It’ll be early daylight when we get there.’

  ‘Hmm.’ His fingers rasped across the stubble of his chin. ‘Pity. Can’t be helped. If we take another day the ship’ll be there before us, and Jerry can move when he has a mind to.’ He nodded firmly. ‘I’ll leave it to you.’

  Seaton smiled. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘All I want is to lay my head somewhere.’ Trevor looked at the little door in the after bulkhead. ‘There?’

  Drake grinned. ‘Engines, chum!’

  Seaton said, ‘Show him the space forrard. We’ll rustle up some tea.’

  Trevor shook his head. ‘Forget it. I need sleep, and you want to get on with the job, right?’ He waved to the others. ‘See you around.’

  Niven returned a few moments later and said, ‘He fell down on the bunk boards and was asleep before his head touched the blanket.’

  Jenkyn’s eyes glowed in the compass light. ‘Poor bugger.’

  Seaton straightened up until his hair was touching the wet deckhead.

  ‘Alter course, Alec. Steer zero-two-zero.’ He looked at Drake. ‘When we’re on the next leg bring her up to thirty feet, at four hundred revolutions. There may be some crafty Asdic trawler up there, just lying doggo and listening.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And –’

  Drake showed his even teeth. ‘I know, David! Watch the trim.’ He gestured towards the W & D door. ‘And I’ve allowed for the extra passenger!’

  ‘Ship’s head zero-two-zero.’

  ‘Very good.’

  Seaton pictured the mushroom-shaped island. A good golfer could hit it easily with a ball from this point. It would need all his care and skill to slip past undetected.

  Compressed air hissed into the tanks, and eventually Drake said, ‘Thirty feet. Four-oh-oh revolutions.’

  Half an hour before the next alteration of course, and with luck a quick look through the stick. He glanced at the clock.

  And his father would still be enjoying himself at the pub.

  5

  Time of Arrival

  SEATON RAISED THE PERISCOPE gingerly and blinked his eyes to clear his vision. Strain, Sheer, mind-breaking strain.

  God, it was much lighter than the last time he had looked.

  ‘Alter course. Steer due north.’

  He lowered the periscope and looked at the deck. He could still see the slab-sided rocks, the crowded little houses of the port, two tall cranes perched like prehistoric monsters waiting to pounce.

  ‘Due north, sir.’ Jenkyn sounded very calm.

  It had been going on for hours. And as the first hint of grey had touched the clouds above the land, Seaton had realised how much the passage had taken out of him, just when he needed to be at his best.

  Constant alterations of course. Up and down for quick looks through the periscope, to check that they were not being carried by an inshore current or were heading for an anchored patrol boat. On and on, mile after aching mile. The mushroom-shaped island which had lain across their approach had moved slightly with each peep through the stick. On the bow, then falling back like a massive curtain to reveal the channel, the sleeping town beyond. The moon had showed itself, mercifully very briefly, and several of the windows above the port had shone suddenly with its unearthly light, as if the whole place had been alerted of their presence.

  He heard Niven speaking softly from the W & D and knew Trevor was emerging from his rest.

  Seaton pressed the button, trying to recall how many times he had done so.

  He saw the feeble light touching the water below the headland, gunmetal grey, swirling angrily towards him. Beyond that steep slope, which was still hidden in blackness, lay the fjord. There was still a long haul after that.

  He Iowered the periscope and asked, ‘Those chaps in the barge? Are they to be trusted?’

  Trevor smiled gently. ‘Completely. And they are so much a part of the scene here the Germans have ceased to bother with them. They carry cement from the port to the fjord. Where the Germans are building their new installations.’ He did not elaborate. Not yet.

  Seaton looked at him. The less you know. But the smell was coming back to him, opening up all those impossible pictures of another life. Green fields, farm workers trudging down to the Lamb and Flag for a pint. All those sties and cowsheds he had seen built. No wonder he had recognised the dusty smell of cement. Especially at sea.

  Trevor added in his level voice, ‘The stuff is unloaded at a special pier in the fjord. It was originally for timber from inland. They used to collect it there and take it by barge to Askvoll. From there it was shipped just about everywhere. They are good people.’

  Niven said, ‘We’ve been told that the enemy are clearing out most of the local population.’ It sounded like a question.

  ‘Further up the fjord, yes. But the Jerries need the people from here. At present.’ He sounded grim. ‘What a war this is developing into.’

  Niven persisted, ‘It can’t last much longer, surely? No matter what the Germans do.’

  ‘They told you that too, did they?’ Trevor turned towards Seaton. ‘How are we getting on, Captain?’

  ‘Nothing moving. You were right about the patrols.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’ He had been thinking so hard and so long about XE 16’s part he had momentarily forgotten the terrible risks Trevor had been taking for much longer, and with no protection.

  Trevor grinned broadly. ‘I’m not always right, y’know!’

  Seaton raised the periscope very slowly. Trevor’s presence in the boat had helped in some odd way. He froze, his knuckles white as he gripped the handles. He jabbed the button. ‘Depth?’

  ‘Ten fathoms.’

  Seaton’s mind was racing like the screw. ‘Flood Q. Thirty feet.’

  He scrambled across to the chart, his mind grappling with the details.

  ‘Steer three-five-zero.’

  He listened to the pounding inrush of water, the instant downward thrust of the hydroplanes. It would be a near thing. He had been following the inner curve of the island as close as he could, but this would take them even nearer to those frothing, rocky teeth. He looked at his companions. Nobody spoke until Drake reported the boat at the required depth.

  Then Seaton explained, ‘Motor launch. Moving very slowly. Left to right.’

  Trevor remarked, ‘It shouldn’t be there.’

  ‘Well, it is!’ He saw Trevor’s guard drop. The boat had been little more than a shadow on the swirling water. Like a drifting log.

  Drake cocked his head. ‘I can hear the bastard.’

  They looked at the dripping deckhead, as if expect
ing to see it cut through the metal. Thrum-thrum-thrum. Like a motor cycle ticking over at the kerbside.

  ‘Ship’s head three-five-zero.’

  Seaton ran his fingers through his unruly hair. It felt matted and dirty.

  ‘Reduce to three hundred revs. Dead quiet everybody.’

  Five minutes dragged by, then ten.

  Seaton could feel the sweat gathering in his jersey and running down his thighs. He could not risk waiting any longer. He dare not.

  ‘Two-five-oh revs. Periscope depth again, please.’

  Drake said through his teeth, ‘My pleasure.’

  Even before he had raised the lens to his eye Seaton felt the more unsteady motion, and when it broke surface he saw the nearest rocks almost alongside. Another minute, a few more yards, and …

  ‘Starboard fifteen. Steady. Resume original course.’

  He swung the periscope round, his knees banging painfully on unyielding objects. The motor launch had vanished.

  He took a slower examination of the out-thrust headland which marked the fjord’s entrance.

  The boat had behaved better than ever before. No leaks or weeping glands. No gauge faults or engine failures.

  Seaton heard Drake and Jenkyn murmuring their alterations, adjusting the trim.

  He had almost cracked wide open over that bloody launch. He had seen the dismay on Niven’s face, uncertainty on Trevor’s. And no bloody wonder. They’re depending on me. Not the other way round.

  He pressed the button. ‘We’ll alter course again in fifteen minutes.’

  There was a click and he saw Trevor examining a deadly-looking machine-pistol. German.

  Trevor looked at him and said, ‘Pity we don’t make guns like this. It can cut a bloke in half. Never jams either.’

  Seaton tried not to think of what had happened to the pistol’s last owner.

  At his estimated time Seaton raised the stick yet again and saw the fjord opening up as if to swallow him. The inner reaches were still in total shadow, so that the snow-capped slopes and crests held the entrance like a great inverted black pyramid.

  But between the entrance and his slow-moving eye he could see the water moving vigorously, feel it trying to shake Jenkyn’s grip, challenge the strength of helm and screw. It was on the ebb. Much longer here and they would be hard put to get to their next rendezvous at all. He made a decision.

  ‘Increase to eight-five-oh revs. Steer zero-eight-zero.’

  Trevor waited for the alien world which surrounded and jostled him in response to Seaton’s unhurried voice to settle before saying, ‘Another half an hour at this rate, Captain.’ He thrust the pistol inside his reefer. ‘God, I’m ravenous.’

  Seaton glanced at him and smiled. You too?

  Then, as Jenkyn announced they were on the new course, he forgot everything but that last picture. The fjord opening on either bow.

  It would look one hell of a lot better going the other way.

  Seaton said huskily, ‘I can see the pier. Starboard bow. About a cable away.’

  He took a slow look around, his heart thumping painfully. It was almost as if he had been expecting total failure from the start. Seeing the strange, sloping pier, exactly as Trevor had described it, was more unnerving than any sort of assurance.

  He moved the handgrip and saw a pale triangle of sky above him. It was still shadowed down one side of the fjord, and he could sense more than judge the depth of water. On the opposite side he could just make out little clefts, filled with snow like bushy eyebrows, and a solitary hut perched on a twisting track, as if it had fallen there by accident.

  Trevor asked, ‘Any boat?’

  Seaton trained the crosswires on the pier. It was like a gaunt longhouse, its full length enclosed by roof and corrugated iron sides, open to the weather in only two places. Nestling against it he saw the boxlike cement barge, but no sign of movement aboard.

  ‘No.’ He heard Trevor’s intake of breath. ‘Not yet.’

  He swung the periscope violently as something moved. But it was a large piece of ice and rock which had somehow detached itself from the top of the nearest land to bounce and rebound into the fjord below.

  Trevor muttered, ‘It was all arranged. A signal.’ He was repeating it for his own benefit. ‘The time is right. We’ve not put a foot wrong.’

  ‘Perhaps the boat’s been held up.’ Drake sounded doubtful.

  Seaton lowered the periscope, picturing the pier drawing closer. At their minimum revolutions they still had time left to change their plan. But it must be soon. He looked at Trevor.

  ‘I can’t stay out here all day, and the bottom’s no use for putting-down. It’s too deep, and too damn risky.’ He waited, measuring the other man’s reaction. ‘Well?’

  Trevor said, ‘The Jerries might have heard something. A tip-off.’ He shook his head. ‘Unlikely. Collaborators get short shift from the Resistance.’

  Jenkyn called, ‘Havin’ a bit of a job, Skipper.’ He was moving the wheel more deliberately than usual. ‘The current’s a sod for holdin’ on course.’

  Seaton sighed. Dead slow. One screw. Drake and Jenkyn had done marvels already to meet Trevor’s unbreakable schedules.

  He replied, ‘I’ll take another look. After that, if there’s no red carpet, I’m getting the hell out of it.’

  He saw Trevor’s guard drop, the strain and tension of his mission giving way to obvious disappointment.

  Seaton added, ‘But I’ll try again. I promise.’

  He pressed the button and dropped to his knees, his thoughts pushing Trevor’s problems into the background.

  It was like feeling your way in the dark. As if you were not entirely trusted. Was it really for their own good, or because they were not yet tested in this sort of work?

  He steadied the crosswires on the cement barge. The light was much stronger, and he could even see the dents and scars along her ugly, flat hull.

  But he fixed his eyes on a small lantern which had appeared on the wheelhouse. Since his last look. He licked his lips, they felt dry and tasted of oil.

  ‘Here. Take a look.’ He seized Trevor’s elbow and pushed him against the periscope, ‘Use these grips. Adjust it either way.’ He watched the man’s uncertainty fading, the way his jaw tightened as he peered through the lens.

  Seaton tried not to count the seconds. He had to know, be as sure as he could that he was not heading for destruction and worse. Only Trevor could help. All the same, their tiny stick of periscope might be seen, their approach greeted with a hail of steel and mortar bombs.

  Trevor moved aside. ‘It’s a signal. The barge skipper would never risk his friends and family unless it was important.’ He eyed Seaton grimly. ‘Beneath the pier there is a long underwater shelf. About a hundred feet by twenty. Carved out of the rock wall to hold the lower foundations. They’ve been getting it ready for you for weeks.’ He smiled, in spite of their combined anxiety. ‘Probably before you even knew about this caper.’

  Seaton stared at him. A berth under the pier. It made perfect sense. Barges might come and go, but security was usually to be found in everyday situations, not in isolation.

  Trevor was not smiling as he added, ‘But it might be an ambush. I have to tell you.’

  Seaton thought of the pier and the moored barge. They would be very near. Once in the prepared berth their haven might well turn into a trap. Boat, crew and Trevor. Just like that.

  He said calmly, ‘We’ll go in on the surface. The tide’s dropping and we will be able to motor under the piles. Equally, we’ll have room to come about and run deep if things get nasty.’

  He felt better for saying it.

  Having committed them he added, ‘Richard, man the W & D. Stand by to surface.’

  He groped for the unfamiliar holster at his belt, trying to see the three X-craft crews behind the old hotel while Lees’ fierce sergeant had explained things. It all seemed a lifetime away.

  Trevor said, ‘Better let me go first.’


  Seaton crouched below the after hatch testing the locking wheel and clips.

  ‘No. You’re too valuable. If I get strafed, Geoff can take you out.’ He looked at the tow-haired lieutenant. ‘Okay?’

  Drake nodded, his eyes strangely sad in the dimmed lights. ‘Too right.’

  Trevor had drawn his deadly-looking machine-pistol. ‘Just as you say, Captain.’

  Seaton was thinking of the pier. ‘Hold her on the ’planes as much as you can, then make it fast.’ He looked from Drake to Jenkyn’s narrow shoulders. ‘Fit?’ They nodded.

  ‘Surface!’

  He knocked off the last clips and thrust up at the heavy hatch with all his might, feeling the water surging across the narrow deck, the icy sting of spray in his eyes as he hauled himself into the grey light.

  ‘Starboard a point.’ Now he was standing upright, clinging to the snort, which he had raised in time with opening the hatch, the handset touching his lips. ‘Steady, now!’

  Faces appeared on the barge’s low bridge, and another man was running like a maniac along the outside of the pier, hopping from pile to pile, apparently indifferent to the risk of drowning or being crushed by the barge if he fell.

  Seaton felt something coursing through his body like emotion and relief all in one.

  This was no carefully staged deception. If anything, these unknown Norwegians were risking disaster in their brief moment of success. What they must have suffered as they had worked and schemed on some hazy instructions from Whitehall, Seaton could only guess. Fear of betrayal, for the safety of their families and friends. Knowing that any sign of precaution, or change in their daily and regulated routine, would draw suspicion and instant investigation.

  He knew Trevor’s head had appeared through the hatch, and wondered how he was feeling at this moment. Maybe he was hardened to such things.

  Seaton said, ‘Tell Richard to open-up and come on deck.’

  A bearded man was waving down from the barge’s high side. It looked like a bottle in his hand.